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Chapter1 A
Summons in the Night

It all seemed so real that I could hardly imagine that it had
ever occurred before; and yet each episode came, not as a fresh
step in the logic of things, but as something expected. It is in
such a wise that memory plays its pranks for good or ill; for
pleasure or pain; for weal or woe. It is thus that life is
bittersweet, and that which has been done becomes eternal.

Again, the light skiff, ceasing to shoot through the lazy water
as when the oars flashed and dripped, glided out of the fierce July
sunlight into the cool shade of the great drooping willow
branches—I standing up in the swaying boat, she sitting still and
with deft fingers guarding herself from stray twigs or the freedom
of the resilience of moving boughs. Again, the water looked
golden-brown under the canopy of translucent green; and the grassy
bank was of emerald hue. Again, we sat in the cool shade, with the
myriad noises of nature both without and within our bower merging
into that drowsy hum in whose sufficing environment the great world
with its disturbing trouble, and its more disturbing joys, can be
effectually forgotten. Again, in that blissful solitude the young
girl lost the convention of her prim, narrow upbringing, and told
me in a natural, dreamy way of the loneliness of her new life. With
an undertone of sadness she made me feel how in that spacious home
each one of the household was isolated by the personal magnificence
of her father and herself; that there confidence had no altar, and
sympathy no shrine; and that there even her father's face was as
distant as the old country life seemed now. Once more, the wisdom
of my manhood and the experience of my years laid themselves at the
girl's feet. It was seemingly their own doing; for the individual
"I" had no say in the matter, but only just obeyed imperative
orders. And once again the flying seconds multiplied themselves
endlessly. For it is in the arcana of dreams that existences merge
and renew themselves, change and yet keep the same—like the soul of
a musician in a fugue. And so memory swooned, again and again, in
sleep.

It seems that there is never to be any perfect rest. Even in
Eden the snake rears its head among the laden boughs of the Tree of
Knowledge. The silence of the dreamless night is broken by the roar
of the avalanche; the hissing of sudden floods; the clanging of the
engine bell marking its sweep through a sleeping American town; the
clanking of distant paddles over the sea… . Whatever it is, it is
breaking the charm of my Eden. The canopy of greenery above us,
starred with diamond-points of light, seems to quiver in the
ceaseless beat of paddles; and the restless bell seems as though it
would never cease… .

All at once the gates of Sleep were thrown wide open, and my
waking ears took in the cause of the disturbing sounds. Waking
existence is prosaic enough—there was somebody knocking and ringing
at someone's street door.

I was pretty well accustomed in my Jermyn Street chambers to
passing sounds; usually I did not concern myself, sleeping or
waking, with the doings, however noisy, of my neighbours. But this
noise was too continuous, too insistent, too imperative to be
ignored. There was some active intelligence behind that ceaseless
sound; and some stress or need behind the intelligence. I was not
altogether selfish, and at the thought of someone's need I was,
without premeditation, out of bed.

Instinctively I looked at my watch. It was just three o'clock;
there was a faint edging of grey round the green blind which
darkened my room. It was evident that the knocking and ringing were
at the door of our own house; and it was evident, too, that there
was no one awake to answer the call. I slipped on my dressing-gown
and slippers, and went down to the hall door. When I opened it
there stood a dapper groom, with one hand pressed unflinchingly on
the electric bell whilst with the other he raised a ceaseless
clangour with the knocker. The instant he saw me the noise ceased;
one hand went up instinctively to the brim of his hat, and the
other produced a letter from his pocket. A neat brougham was
opposite the door, the horses were breathing heavily as though they
had come fast. A policeman, with his night lantern still alight at
his belt, stood by, attracted to the spot by the noise.

"Beg pardon, sir, I'm sorry for disturbing you, but my orders
was imperative; I was not to lose a moment, but to knock and ring
till someone came. May I ask you, sir, if Mr. Malcolm Ross lives
here?"

"I am Mr. Malcolm Ross."

"Then this letter is for you, sir, and the bro'am is for you
too, sir!"

I took, with a strange curiosity, the letter which he handed to
me. As a barrister I had had, of course, odd experiences now and
then, including sudden demands upon my time; but never anything
like this. I stepped back into the hall, closing the door to, but
leaving it ajar; then I switched on the electric light. The letter
was directed in a strange hand, a woman's. It began at once without
"dear sir" or any such address:

"You said you would like to help me if I needed it; and I
believe you meant what you said. The time has come sooner than I
expected. I am in dreadful trouble, and do not know where to turn,
or to whom to apply. An attempt has, I fear, been made to murder my
Father; though, thank God, he still lives. But he is quite
unconscious. The doctors and police have been sent for; but there
is no one here whom I can depend on. Come at once if you are able
to; and forgive me if you can. I suppose I shall realise later what
I have done in asking such a favour; but at present I cannot think.
Come! Come at once! MARGARET TRELAWNY."

Pain and exultation struggled in my mind as I read; but the
mastering thought was that she was in trouble and had called on
me—me! My dreaming of her, then, was not altogether without a
cause. I called out to the groom:

"Wait! I shall be with you in a minute!" Then I flew
upstairs.

A very few minutes sufficed to wash and dress; and we were soon
driving through the streets as fast as the horses could go. It was
market morning, and when we got out on Piccadilly there was an
endless stream of carts coming from the west; but for the rest the
roadway was clear, and we went quickly. I had told the groom to
come into the brougham with me so that he could tell me what had
happened as we went along. He sat awkwardly, with his hat on his
knees as he spoke.

"Miss Trelawny, sir, sent a man to tell us to get out a carriage
at once; and when we was ready she come herself and gave me the
letter and told Morgan—the coachman, sir—to fly. She said as I was
to lose not a second, but to keep knocking till someone come."

"Yes, I know, I know—you told me! What I want to know is, why
she sent for me. What happened in the house?"

"I don't quite know myself, sir; except that master was found in
his room senseless, with the sheets all bloody, and a wound on his
head. He couldn't be waked nohow. Twas Miss Trelawny herself as
found him."

"How did she come to find him at such an hour? It was late in
the night, I suppose?"

"I don't know, sir; I didn't hear nothing at all of the
details."

As he could tell me no more, I stopped the carriage for a moment
to let him get out on the box; then I turned the matter over in my
mind as I sat alone. There were many things which I could have
asked the servant; and for a few moments after he had gone I was
angry with myself for not having used my opportunity. On second
thought, however, I was glad the temptation was gone. I felt that
it would be more delicate to learn what I wanted to know of Miss
Trelawny's surroundings from herself, rather than from her
servants.

We bowled swiftly along Knightsbridge, the small noise of our
well- appointed vehicle sounding hollowly in the morning air. We
turned up the Kensington Palace Road and presently stopped opposite
a great house on the left-hand side, nearer, so far as I could
judge, the Notting Hill than the Kensington end of the avenue. It
was a truly fine house, not only with regard to size but to
architecture. Even in the dim grey light of the morning, which
tends to diminish the size of things, it looked big.

Miss Trelawny met me in the hall. She was not in any way shy.
She seemed to rule all around her with a sort of high-bred
dominance, all the more remarkable as she was greatly agitated and
as pale as snow. In the great hall were several servants, the men
standing together near the hall door, and the women clinging
together in the further corners and doorways. A police
superintendent had been talking to Miss Trelawny; two men in
uniform and one plain-clothes man stood near him. As she took my
hand impulsively there was a look of relief in her eyes, and she
gave a gentle sigh of relief. Her salutation was simple.

"I knew you would come!"

The clasp of the hand can mean a great deal, even when it is not
intended to mean anything especially. Miss Trelawny's hand somehow
became lost in my own. It was not that it was a small hand; it was
fine and flexible, with long delicate fingers—a rare and beautiful
hand; it was the unconscious self-surrender. And though at the
moment I could not dwell on the cause of the thrill which swept me,
it came back to me later.

She turned and said to the police superintendent:

"This is Mr. Malcolm Ross." The police officer saluted as he
answered:

"I know Mr. Malcolm Ross, miss. Perhaps he will remember I had
the honour of working with him in the Brixton Coining case." I had
not at first glance noticed who it was, my whole attention having
been taken with Miss Trelawny.

"Of course, Superintendent Dolan, I remember very well!" I said
as we shook hands. I could not but note that the acquaintanceship
seemed a relief to Miss Trelawny. There was a certain vague
uneasiness in her manner which took my attention; instinctively I
felt that it would be less embarrassing for her to speak with me
alone. So I said to the Superintendent:

"Perhaps it will be better if Miss Trelawny will see me alone
for a few minutes. You, of course, have already heard all she
knows; and I shall understand better how things are if I may ask
some questions. I will then talk the matter over with you if I
may."

"I shall be glad to be of what service I can, sir," he answered
heartily.

Following Miss Trelawny, I moved over to a dainty room which
opened from the hall and looked out on the garden at the back of
the house. When we had entered and I had closed the door she
said:

"I will thank you later for your goodness in coming to me in my
trouble; but at present you can best help me when you know the
facts."

"Go on," I said. "Tell me all you know and spare no detail,
however trivial it may at the present time seem to be." She went on
at once:

"I was awakened by some sound; I do not know what. I only know
that it came through my sleep; for all at once I found myself
awake, with my heart beating wildly, listening anxiously for some
sound from my Father's room. My room is next Father's, and I can
often hear him moving about before I fall asleep. He works late at
night, sometimes very late indeed; so that when I wake early, as I
do occasionally, or in the grey of the dawn, I hear him still
moving. I tried once to remonstrate with him about staying up so
late, as it cannot be good for him; but I never ventured to repeat
the experiment. You know how stern and cold he can be—at least you
may remember what I told you about him; and when he is polite in
this mood he is dreadful. When he is angry I can bear it much
better; but when he is slow and deliberate, and the side of his
mouth lifts up to show the sharp teeth, I think I feel—well, I
don't know how! Last night I got up softly and stole to the door,
for I really feared to disturb him. There was not any noise of
moving, and no kind of cry at all; but there was a queer kind of
dragging sound, and a slow, heavy breathing. Oh! it was dreadful,
waiting there in the dark and the silence, and fearing—fearing I
did not know what!

"At last I took my courage a deux mains, and turning the handle
as softly as I could, I opened the door a tiny bit. It was quite
dark within; I could just see the outline of the windows. But in
the darkness the sound of breathing, becoming more distinct, was
appalling. As I listened, this continued; but there was no other
sound. I pushed the door open all at once. I was afraid to open it
slowly; I felt as if there might be some dreadful thing behind it
ready to pounce out on me! Then I switched on the electric light,
and stepped into the room. I looked first at the bed. The sheets
were all crumpled up, so that I knew Father had been in bed; but
there was a great dark red patch in the centre of the bed, and
spreading to the edge of it, that made my heart stand still. As I
was gazing at it the sound of the breathing came across the room,
and my eyes followed to it. There was Father on his right side with
the other arm under him, just as if his dead body had been thrown
there all in a heap. The track of blood went across the room up to
the bed, and there was a pool all around him which looked terribly
red and glittering as I bent over to examine him. The place where
he lay was right in front of the big safe. He was in his pyjamas.
The left sleeve was torn, showing his bare arm, and stretched out
toward the safe. It looked—oh! so terrible, patched all with blood,
and with the flesh torn or cut all around a gold chain bangle on
his wrist. I did not know he wore such a thing, and it seemed to
give me a new shock of surprise."

She paused a moment; and as I wished to relieve her by a
moment's divergence of thought, I said:

"Oh, that need not surprise you. You will see the most unlikely
men wearing bangles. I have seen a judge condemn a man to death,
and the wrist of the hand he held up had a gold bangle." She did
not seem to heed much the words or the idea; the pause, however,
relieved her somewhat, and she went on in a steadier voice:

"I did not lose a moment in summoning aid, for I feared he might
bleed to death. I rang the bell, and then went out and called for
help as loudly as I could. In what must have been a very short
time—though it seemed an incredibly long one to me—some of the
servants came running up; and then others, till the room seemed
full of staring eyes, and dishevelled hair, and night clothes of
all sorts.

"We lifted Father on a sofa; and the housekeeper, Mrs. Grant,
who seemed to have her wits about her more than any of us, began to
look where the flow of blood came from. In a few seconds it became
apparent that it came from the arm which was bare. There was a deep
wound—not clean-cut as with a knife, but like a jagged rent or
tear—close to the wrist, which seemed to have cut into the vein.
Mrs. Grant tied a handkerchief round the cut, and screwed it up
tight with a silver paper-cutter; and the flow of blood seemed to
be checked at once. By this time I had come to my senses—or such of
them as remained; and I sent off one man for the doctor and another
for the police. When they had gone, I felt that, except for the
servants, I was all alone in the house, and that I knew nothing—of
my Father or anything else; and a great longing came to me to have
someone with me who could help me. Then I thought of you and your
kind offer in the boat under the willow-tree; and, without waiting
to think, I told the men to get a carriage ready at once, and I
scribbled a note and sent it on to you."

She paused. I did not like to say just then anything of how I
felt. I looked at her; I think she understood, for her eyes were
raised to mine for a moment and then fell, leaving her cheeks as
red as peony roses. With a manifest effort she went on with her
story:

"The Doctor was with us in an incredibly short time. The groom
had met him letting himself into his house with his latchkey, and
he came here running. He made a proper tourniquet for poor Father's
arm, and then went home to get some appliances. I dare say he will
be back almost immediately. Then a policeman came, and sent a
message to the station; and very soon the Superintendent was here.
Then you came."

There was a long pause, and I ventured to take her hand for an
instant. Without a word more we opened the door, and joined the
Superintendent in the hall. He hurried up to us, saying as he
came:

"I have been examining everything myself, and have sent off a
message to Scotland Yard. You see, Mr. Ross, there seemed so much
that was odd about the case that I thought we had better have the
best man of the Criminal Investigation Department that we could
get. So I sent a note asking to have Sergeant Daw sent at once. You
remember him, sir, in that American poisoning case at Hoxton."

"Oh yes," I said, "I remember him well; in that and other cases,
for I have benefited several times by his skill and acumen. He has
a mind that works as truly as any that I know. When I have been for
the defence, and believed my man was innocent, I was glad to have
him against us!"

"That is high praise, sir!" said the Superintendent gratified:
"I am glad you approve of my choice; that I did well in sending for
him."

I answered heartily:

"Could not be better. I do not doubt that between you we shall
get at the facts—and what lies behind them!"

We ascended to Mr. Trelawny's room, where we found everything
exactly as his daughter had described.

There came a ring at the house bell, and a minute later a man
was shown into the room. A young man with aquiline features, keen
grey eyes, and a forehead that stood out square and broad as that
of a thinker. In his hand he had a black bag which he at once
opened. Miss Trelawny introduced us: "Doctor Winchester, Mr. Ross,
Superintendent Dolan." We bowed mutually, and he, without a
moment's delay, began his work. We all waited, and eagerly watched
him as he proceeded to dress the wound. As he went on he turned now
and again to call the Superintendent's attention to some point
about the wound, the latter proceeding to enter the fact at once in
his notebook.

"See! several parallel cuts or scratches beginning on the left
side of the wrist and in some places endangering the radial
artery.

"These small wounds here, deep and jagged, seem as if made with
a blunt instrument. This in particular would seem as if made with
some kind of sharp wedge; the flesh round it seems torn as if with
lateral pressure."

Turning to Miss Trelawny he said presently:

"Do you think we might remove this bangle? It is not absolutely
necessary, as it will fall lower on the wrist where it can hang
loosely; but it might add to the patient's comfort later on." The
poor girl flushed deeply as she answered in a low voice:

"I do not know. I—I have only recently come to live with my
Father; and I know so little of his life or his ideas that I fear I
can hardly judge in such a matter. The Doctor, after a keen glance
at her, said in a very kindly way:

"Forgive me! I did not know. But in any case you need not be
distressed. It is not required at present to move it. Were it so I
should do so at once on my own responsibility. If it be necessary
later on, we can easily remove it with a file. Your Father
doubtless has some object in keeping it as it is. See! there is a
tiny key attached to it… " As he was speaking he stopped and bent
lower, taking from my hand the candle which I held and lowering it
till its light fell on the bangle. Then motioning me to hold the
candle in the same position, he took from his pocket a
magnifying-glass which he adjusted. When he had made a careful
examination he stood up and handed the magnifying-glass to Dolan,
saying as he did so:

"You had better examine it yourself. That is no ordinary bangle.
The gold is wrought over triple steel links; see where it is worn
away. It is manifestly not meant to be removed lightly; and it
would need more than an ordinary file to do it."

The Superintendent bent his great body; but not getting close
enough that way knelt down by the sofa as the Doctor had done. He
examined the bangle minutely, turning it slowly round so that no
particle of it escaped observation. Then he stood up and handed the
magnifying-glass to me. "When you have examined it yourself," he
said, "let the lady look at it if she will," and he commenced to
write at length in his notebook.

I made a simple alteration in his suggestion. I held out the
glass toward Miss Trelawny, saying:

"Had you not better examine it first?" She drew back, slightly
raising her hand in disclaimer, as she said impulsively:

"Oh no! Father would doubtless have shown it to me had he wished
me to see it. I would not like to without his consent." Then she
added, doubtless fearing lest her delicacy of view should give
offence to the rest of us:

"Of course it is right that you should see it. You have to
examine and consider everything; and indeed—indeed I am grateful to
you… "

She turned away; I could see that she was crying quietly. It was
evident to me that even in the midst of her trouble and anxiety
there was a chagrin that she knew so little of her father; and that
her ignorance had to be shown at such a time and amongst so many
strangers. That they were all men did not make the shame more easy
to bear, though there was a certain relief in it. Trying to
interpret her feelings I could not but think that she must have
been glad that no woman's eyes—of understanding greater than
man's—were upon her in that hour.

When I stood up from my examination, which verified to me that
of the Doctor, the latter resumed his place beside the couch and
went on with his ministrations. Superintendent Dolan said to me in
a whisper:

"I think we are fortunate in our doctor!" I nodded, and was
about to add something in praise of his acumen, when there came a
low tapping at the door.

Chapter2
Strange Instructions

Superintendent Dolan went quietly to the door; by a sort of
natural understanding he had taken possession of affairs in the
room. The rest of us waited. He opened the door a little way; and
then with a gesture of manifest relief threw it wide, and a young
man stepped in. A young man clean-shaven, tall and slight; with an
eagle face and bright, quick eyes that seemed to take in everything
around him at a glance. As he came in, the Superintendent held out
his hand; the two men shook hands warmly.

"I came at once, sir, the moment I got your message. I am glad I
still have your confidence."

"That you'll always have," said the Superintendent heartily. "I
have not forgotten our old Bow Street days, and I never shall!"
Then, without a word of preliminary, he began to tell everything he
knew up to the moment of the newcomer's entry. Sergeant Daw asked a
few questions—a very few—when it was necessary for his
understanding of circumstances or the relative positions of
persons; but as a rule Dolan, who knew his work thoroughly,
forestalled every query, and explained all necessary matters as he
went on. Sergeant Daw threw occasionally swift glances round him;
now at one of us; now at the room or some part of it; now at the
wounded man lying senseless on the sofa.

When the Superintendent had finished, the Sergeant turned to me
and said:

"Perhaps you remember me, sir. I was with you in that Hoxton
case."

"I remember you very well," I said as I held out my hand. The
Superintendent spoke again:

"You understand, Sergeant Daw, that you are put in full charge
of this case."

"Under you I hope, sir," he interrupted. The other shook his
head and smiled as he said:

"It seems to me that this is a case that will take all a man's
time and his brains. I have other work to do; but I shall be more
than interested, and if I can help in any possible way I shall be
glad to do so!"

"All right, sir," said the other, accepting his responsibility
with a sort of modified salute; straightway he began his
investigation.

First he came over to the Doctor and, having learned his name
and address, asked him to write a full report which he could use,
and which he could refer to headquarters if necessary. Doctor
Winchester bowed gravely as he promised. Then the Sergeant
approached me and said sotto voce:

"I like the look of your doctor. I think we can work together!"
Turning to Miss Trelawny he asked:

"Please let me know what you can of your Father; his ways of
life, his history—in fact of anything of whatsoever kind which
interests him, or in which he may be concerned." I was about to
interrupt to tell him what she had already said of her ignorance in
all matters of her father and his ways, but her warning hand was
raised to me pointedly and she spoke herself.

"Alas! I know little or nothing. Superintendent Dolan and Mr.
Ross know already all I can say."

"Well, ma'am, we must be content to do what we can," said the
officer genially. "I'll begin by making a minute examination. You
say that you were outside the door when you heard the noise?"

"I was in my room when I heard the queer sound—indeed it must
have been the early part of whatever it was which woke me. I came
out of my room at once. Father's door was shut, and I could see the
whole landing and the upper slopes of the staircase. No one could
have left by the door unknown to me, if that is what you mean!"

"That is just what I do mean, miss. If every one who knows
anything will tell me as well as that, we shall soon get to the
bottom of this."

He then went over to the bed, looked at it carefully, and
asked:

"Has the bed been touched?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Miss Trelawny, "but I shall ask Mrs.
Grant— the housekeeper," she added as she rang the bell. Mrs. Grant
answered it in person. "Come in," said Miss Trelawny. "These
gentlemen want to know, Mrs. Grant, if the bed has been
touched."

"Not by me, ma'am."

"Then," said Miss Trelawny, turning to Sergeant Daw, "it cannot
have been touched by any one. Either Mrs. Grant or I myself was
here all the time, and I do not think any of the servants who came
when I gave the alarm were near the bed at all. You see, Father lay
here just under the great safe, and every one crowded round him. We
sent them all away in a very short time." Daw, with a motion of his
hand, asked us all to stay at the other side of the room whilst
with a magnifying-glass he examined the bed, taking care as he
moved each fold of the bed-clothes to replace it in exact position.
Then he examined with his magnifying-glass the floor beside it,
taking especial pains where the blood had trickled over the side of
the bed, which was of heavy red wood handsomely carved. Inch by
inch, down on his knees, carefully avoiding any touch with the
stains on the floor, he followed the blood-marks over to the spot,
close under the great safe, where the body had lain. All around and
about this spot he went for a radius of some yards; but seemingly
did not meet with anything to arrest special attention. Then he
examined the front of the safe; round the lock, and along the
bottom and top of the double doors, more especially at the places
of their touching in front.

Next he went to the windows, which were fastened down with the
hasps.

"Were the shutters closed?" he asked Miss Trelawny in a casual
way as though he expected the negative answer, which came.

All this time Doctor Winchester was attending to his patient;
now dressing the wounds in the wrist or making minute examination
all over the head and throat, and over the heart. More than once he
put his nose to the mouth of the senseless man and sniffed. Each
time he did so he finished up by unconsciously looking round the
room, as though in search of something.

Then we heard the deep strong voice of the Detective:

"So far as I can see, the object was to bring that key to the
lock of the safe. There seems to be some secret in the mechanism
that I am unable to guess at, though I served a year in Chubb's
before I joined the police. It is a combination lock of seven
letters; but there seems to be a way of locking even the
combination. It is one of Chatwood's; I shall call at their place
and find out something about it." Then turning to the Doctor, as
though his own work were for the present done, he said:

"Have you anything you can tell me at once, Doctor, which will
not interfere with your full report? If there is any doubt I can
wait, but the sooner I know something definite the better." Doctor
Winchester answered at once:

"For my own part I see no reason in waiting. I shall make a full
report of course. But in the meantime I shall tell you all I
know—which is after all not very much, and all I think—which is
less definite. There is no wound on the head which could account
for the state of stupor in which the patient continues. I must,
therefore, take it that either he has been drugged or is under some
hypnotic influence. So far as I can judge, he has not been
drugged—at least by means of any drug of whose qualities I am
aware. Of course, there is ordinarily in this room so much of a
mummy smell that it is difficult to be certain about anything
having a delicate aroma. I dare say that you have noticed the
peculiar Egyptians scents, bitumen, nard, aromatic gums and spices,
and so forth. It is quite possible that somewhere in this room,
amongst the curios and hidden by stronger scents, is some substance
or liquid which may have the effect we see. It is possible that the
patient has taken some drug, and that he may in some sleeping phase
have injured himself. I do not think this is likely; and
circumstances, other than those which I have myself been
investigating, may prove that this surmise is not correct. But in
the meantime it is possible; and must, till it be disproved, be
kept within our purview." Here Sergeant Daw interrupted:

"That may be, but if so, we should be able to find the
instrument with which the wrist was injured. There would be marks
of blood somewhere."

"Exactly so!" said the Doctor, fixing his glasses as though
preparing for an argument. "But if it be that the patient has used
some strange drug, it may be one that does not take effect at once.
As we are as yet ignorant of its potentialities—if, indeed, the
whole surmise is correct at all—we must be prepared at all
points."

Here Miss Trelawny joined in the conversation:

"That would be quite right, so far as the action of the drug was
concerned; but according to the second part of your surmise the
wound may have been self-inflicted, and this after the drug had
taken effect."

"True!" said the Detective and the Doctor simultaneously. She
went on:

"As however, Doctor, your guess does not exhaust the
possibilities, we must bear in mind that some other variant of the
same root-idea may be correct. I take it, therefore, that our first
search, to be made on this assumption, must be for the weapon with
which the injury was done to my Father's wrist."

"Perhaps he put the weapon in the safe before he became quite
unconscious," said I, giving voice foolishly to a half-formed
thought.

"That could not be," said the Doctor quickly. "At least I think
it could hardly be," he added cautiously, with a brief bow to me.
"You see, the left hand is covered with blood; but there is no
blood mark whatever on the safe."

"Quite right!" I said, and there was a long pause.

The first to break the silence was the Doctor.

"We shall want a nurse here as soon as possible; and I know the
very one to suit. I shall go at once to get her if I can. I must
ask that till I return some of you will remain constantly with the
patient. It may be necessary to remove him to another room later
on; but in the meantime he is best left here. Miss Trelawny, may I
take it that either you or Mrs. Grant will remain here—not merely
in the room, but close to the patient and watchful of him—till I
return?"

She bowed in reply, and took a seat beside the sofa. The Doctor
gave her some directions as to what she should do in case her
father should become conscious before his return.

The next to move was Superintendent Dolan, who came close to
Sergeant Daw as he said:

"I had better return now to the station—unless, of course, you
should wish me to remain for a while."

He answered, "Is Johnny Wright still in your division?"

"Yes! Would you like him to be with you?" The other nodded
reply. "Then I will send him on to you as soon as can be arranged.
He shall then stay with you as long as you wish. I will tell him
that he is to take his instructions entirely from you."

The Sergeant accompanied him to the door, saying as he went:

"Thank you, sir; you are always thoughtful for men who are
working with you. It is a pleasure to me to be with you again. I
shall go back to Scotland Yard and report to my chief. Then I shall
call at Chatwood's; and I shall return here as soon as possible. I
suppose I may take it, miss, that I may put up here for a day or
two, if required. It may be some help, or possibly some comfort to
you, if I am about, until we unravel this mystery."

"I shall be very grateful to you." He looked keenly at her for a
few seconds before he spoke again.

"Before I go have I permission to look about your Father's table
and desk? There might be something which would give us a clue—or a
lead at all events." Her answer was so unequivocal as almost to
surprise him.

"You have the fullest possible permission to do anything which
may help us in this dreadful trouble—to discover what it is that is
wrong with my Father, or which may shield him in the future!"

He began at once a systematic search of the dressing-table, and
after that of the writing-table in the room. In one of the drawers
he found a letter sealed; this he brought at once across the room
and handed to Miss Trelawny.

"A letter—directed to me—and in my Father's hand!" she said as
she eagerly opened it. I watched her face as she began to read; but
seeing at once that Sergeant Daw kept his keen eyes on her face,
unflinchingly watching every flitting expression, I kept my eyes
henceforth fixed on his. When Miss Trelawny had read her letter
through, I had in my mind a conviction, which, however, I kept
locked in my own heart. Amongst the suspicions in the mind of the
Detective was one, rather perhaps potential than definite, of Miss
Trelawny herself.

For several minutes Miss Trelawny held the letter in her hand
with her eyes downcast, thinking. Then she read it carefully again;
this time the varying expressions were intensified, and I thought I
could easily follow them. When she had finished the second reading,
she paused again. Then, though with some reluctance, she handed the
letter to the Detective. He read it eagerly but with unchanging
face; read it a second time, and then handed it back with a bow.
She paused a little again, and then handed it to me. As she did so
she raised her eyes to mine for a single moment appealingly; a
swift blush spread over her pale cheeks and forehead.

With mingled feelings I took it, but, all said, I was glad. She
did not show any perturbation in giving the letter to the
Detective—she might not have shown any to anyone else. But to me… I
feared to follow the thought further; but read on, conscious that
the eyes of both Miss Trelawny and the Detective were fixed on
me.

"MY DEAR DAUGHTER, I want you to take this letter as an
instruction— absolute and imperative, and admitting of no deviation
whatever—in case anything untoward or unexpected by you or by
others should happen to me. If I should be suddenly and
mysteriously stricken down—either by sickness, accident or
attack—you must follow these directions implicitly. If I am not
already in my bedroom when you are made cognisant of my state, I am
to be brought there as quickly as possible. Even should I be dead,
my body is to be brought there. Thenceforth, until I am either
conscious and able to give instructions on my own account, or
buried, I am never to be left alone—not for a single instant. From
nightfall to sunrise at least two persons must remain in the room.
It will be well that a trained nurse be in the room from time to
time, and will note any symptoms, either permanent or changing,
which may strike her. My solicitors, Marvin & Jewkes, of 27B
Lincoln's Inn, have full instructions in case of my death; and Mr.
Marvin has himself undertaken to see personally my wishes carried
out. I should advise you, my dear Daughter, seeing that you have no
relative to apply to, to get some friend whom you can trust to
either remain within the house where instant communication can be
made, or to come nightly to aid in the watching, or to be within
call. Such friend may be either male or female; but, whichever it
may be, there should be added one other watcher or attendant at
hand of the opposite sex. Understand, that it is of the very
essence of my wish that there should be, awake and exercising
themselves to my purposes, both masculine and feminine
intelligences. Once more, my dear Margaret, let me impress on you
the need for observation and just reasoning to conclusions,
howsoever strange. If I am taken ill or injured, this will be no
ordinary occasion; and I wish to warn you, so that your guarding
may be complete.

"Nothing in my room—I speak of the curios—must be removed or
displaced in any way, or for any cause whatever. I have a special
reason and a special purpose in the placing of each; so that any
moving of them would thwart my plans.

"Should you want money or counsel in anything, Mr. Marvin will
carry out your wishes; to the which he has my full
instructions."

"ABEL TRELAWNY."

I read the letter a second time before speaking, for I feared to
betray myself. The choice of a friend might be a momentous occasion
for me. I had already ground for hope, that she had asked me to
help her in the first throe of her trouble; but love makes its own
doubtings, and I feared. My thoughts seemed to whirl with lightning
rapidity, and in a few seconds a whole process of reasoning became
formulated. I must not volunteer to be the friend that the father
advised his daughter to have to aid her in her vigil; and yet that
one glance had a lesson which I must not ignore. Also, did not she,
when she wanted help, send to me—to me a stranger, except for one
meeting at a dance and one brief afternoon of companionship on the
river? Would it not humiliate her to make her ask me twice?
Humiliate her! No! that pain I could at all events save her; it is
not humiliation to refuse. So, as I handed her back the letter, I
said:

"I know you will forgive me, Miss Trelawny, if I presume too
much; but if you will permit me to aid in the watching I shall be
proud. Though the occasion is a sad one, I shall be so far happy to
be allowed the privilege."

Despite her manifest and painful effort at self-control, the red
tide swept her face and neck. Even her eyes seemed suffused, and in
stern contrast with her pale cheeks when the tide had rolled back.
She answered in a low voice:

"I shall be very grateful for your help!" Then in an
afterthought she added:

"But you must not let me be selfish in my need! I know you have
many duties to engage you; and though I shall value your help
highly—most highly—it would not be fair to monopolise your
time."

"As to that," I answered at once, "my time is yours. I can for
today easily arrange my work so that I can come here in the
afternoon and stay till morning. After that, if the occasion still
demands it, I can so arrange my work that I shall have more time
still at my disposal."

She was much moved. I could see the tears gather in her eyes,
and she turned away her head. The Detective spoke:

"I am glad you will be here, Mr. Ross. I shall be in the house
myself, as Miss Trelawny will allow me, if my people in Scotland
Yard will permit. That letter seems to put a different complexion
on everything; though the mystery remains greater than ever. If you
can wait here an hour or two I shall go to headquarters, and then
to the safe-makers. After that I shall return; and you can go away
easier in your mind, for I shall be here."

When he had gone, we two, Miss Trelawny and I, remained in
silence. At last she raised her eyes and looked at me for a moment;
after that I would not have exchanged places with a king. For a
while she busied herself round the extemporised bedside of her
father. Then, asking me to be sure not to take my eyes off him till
she returned, she hurried out.

In a few minutes she came back with Mrs. Grant and two maids and
a couple of men, who bore the entire frame and furniture of a light
iron bed. This they proceeded to put together and to make. When the
work was completed, and the servants had withdrawn, she said to
me:

"It will be well to be all ready when the Doctor returns. He
will surely want to have Father put to bed; and a proper bed will
be better for him than the sofa." She then got a chair close beside
her father, and sat down watching him.

I went about the room, taking accurate note of all I saw. And
truly there were enough things in the room to evoke the curiosity
of any man— even though the attendant circumstances were less
strange. The whole place, excepting those articles of furniture
necessary to a well-furnished bedroom, was filled with magnificent
curios, chiefly Egyptian. As the room was of immense size there was
opportunity for the placing of a large number of them, even if, as
with these, they were of huge proportions.

Whilst I was still investigating the room there came the sound
of wheels on the gravel outside the house. There was a ring at the
hall door, and a few minutes later, after a preliminary tap at the
door and an answering "Come in!" Doctor Winchester entered,
followed by a young woman in the dark dress of a nurse.

"I have been fortunate!" he said as he came in. "I found her at
once and free. Miss Trelawny, this is Nurse Kennedy!"